Songs in the Key of M
by Traviosita9124
Summary: Series of one-shot song fics because, well, I like song fics. Rated M for a variety of reasons, sex and drug use being a few.
1. The Joker

Alright… I'm staring another IPS fic after a looooooooooong hiatus. Damn you, law school. A confession: I've always wanted to write drabbles, but find that I'm never pleased with how they turn out. So, instead of setting my iPod to random and writing for the length of a song, I'm just churning out random, one-shot song fics. I have about ten titles in mind now; suggestions will always be welcome.

Not gonna lie, these chapters will most likely be few and far between until school lets out for the summer. However, like all authors, I can be bribed, mainly with comments and reviews. Please apply liberally, as it may induce faster results.

These may be a bit AU; I don't like going extreme AU, but some of the timelines needed to be played with to make these work.

As always, enjoy.

-Katie

* * *

_I'm a joker  
I'm a smoker  
I'm a midnight toker  
I get my lovin' on the run_

- "The Joker", Steve Miller Band

* * *

He had been an official part of the Service for six months, bouncing around and working odd jobs as he waited for his official assignment when they gave him his first semi-permanent placement. As WITSEC didn't have a position available for him yet, he was being loaned to the Fugitive Task Force in New York; they were having trouble with a dope-dealing biker gang that was operating out of Jersey, and wanted an inside man to get the job done. Being as new as he was, Marshall Mann drew the short straw.

They changed his name to Johnny Miller and taught him the basics of the mechanic's trade.

He traded his usual button downs and sports coats for faded concert tees and a leather jacket, the cowboy boots of his Southwestern roots for heavy black work boots and his pristine jeans for faded and grease-stained Levi's. His usually neat, close cropped hair was allowed to grow out, occasionally slicked back under a backwards ball cap. He made sure to lose his clipped way of speaking and learned to speak with the accent all men of the Garden State seemed to be born with. He placed all of his books and knickknacks in storage; the only reading material his new, Spartan bachelor's apartment in Jersey City held were car manuals, TV Guides and Playboys. He requisitioned a beat up Ford from the USMS and moved himself in a month later.

Marshall spent 18 months working his way into the Lost Motorcycle gang. He started out as Johnny, the guy who would fix their bikes cheap at Del Vecchio's Garage so long as they slid him a bit of weed or bought him a six pack of Bud, a nice enough kid just looking to scrape out a living and have a little fun while he was at it.

It was during a shootout the Marshal Service had staged that they realized his true potential. The kid could shoot and kept calm in a tense situation.

It was a cake walk from there, and soon 27 year old Johnny Miller found himself spending more and more of his time away from the garage where he worked with members of the Lost, at bars tucked away beneath freeways where there was always pool and a jukebox cranking out classic rock and they always drank free. He was even given his own bike and ran small jobs for the gang. But time was winding down for the Lost now that he had worked his way closer to their leaders; within a month Johnny Miller would go back to being Marshall Mann after twenty long months away.

He did his best to act naturally as his handlers fed him information about when the sting would come to a close; it resulted in him spending even more time with gang members as they caroused through the night and into the early morning, flirting with tough-as-nails Jersey girls with leather jackets, stiletto heels and teased hair before stumbling home into bed.

On one such night in late September, days before the Lost were to get a new shipment of Mexican green and the Marshals from New York were gonna bag them for it, Marshall found himself perched on a stool with his "boys". They had been drinking hard, yet again; longnecks littered the bar top in front of them as their singing along with the jukebox became rowdier and they cheered each other on as they played other patrons in pool. After yet another round of shots, Marshall realized he was being stared down by a tall blonde from across the bar.

She screamed Jersey, from the way she carried herself to the language that flew out of her mouth at any man who made what she deemed to be an inappropriate pass at her. Her hair just brushed her black leather jacket clad shoulders and her assets were on full display in a low-cut tank top and blue jeans that looked like they were painted on. He was amused to notice that despite her gruff appearance and above average height, she wore high-heeled black boots. She was confident, with flashing green-hazel eyes that drew him in like magnets. He drained the rest of his beer before ordering two whiskey-colas and walking over to her. He was followed by a drunken chorus of, "Go get her, Johnny!"

She sized him up before speaking.

"You runnin' with them?" she asked, jutting her chin toward the other members of the Lost.

He gave a soft chuckle and handed her a drink. He was amused when she sniffed at it before taking a sip.

"Yeah, I'm runnin' with them. Why, you got a problem with guys who like bikes and beer?" He held her gaze as he took a hit of his drink, the whiskey adding to the pleasurable feeling of his buzz. The sly smile she gave him as her eyes danced over his body caused his stomach to drop and his heart to race.

"No, I don't have a problem with them. Maybe I just wanna chance to ride one of those bikes." Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she turned away from him and finished her drink. Marshall finished his own and set it down on the ledge that ran around the room. He spotted an open pool table and before he could really think it through or she could protest, he grabbed her by the hand and hauled her over to it. Grabbing two cues, he tossed her one with a smirk.

"Tell you what, we play best of three. You win, you get to ride my bike. You lose… well, you still get to ride."

She drained her glass and told him to rack with a dark chuckle.

* * *

She beat him handily in two games.

The boys gave him shit for it; he snapped back that if they'd been staring at an ass like hers before every shot, they'd be distracted, too. His response was met by loud guffaws that doubled when he found her standing directly in front of him. He was terrified for a split second before she slugged him in the arm (for staring at her ass), then kissed him on the cheek (for complimenting it). He took her cue from her before she could actually do bodily damage and pulled her over to the jukebox. There was a small area for dancing, and he pulled her close and began to sway with her, hidden from the Lost by other couples.

He asked her name as a way to distract himself from the feeling of her pressed against him from hip to shoulder.

"Ma—"she seemed to stop herself just before continuing, "Margaret. My name is Margaret." She buried her face in his shoulder to keep from meeting his eyes.

"That's smart, you know."

"What's smart?" Her eyes met his again, green burrowing in to blue, trying to determine what he was getting at.

"Not telling your real name to men in bars." She looked slightly uncomfortable, so he changed the subject as a new song started playing. "Great song."

She hummed in agreement and began to sing along.

"'Cause I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover, and I'm a sinner, playin' my music in the sun…'"

He picked up singing where she left off.

"'I'm a joker, I'm a smoker, I'm a midnight toker, I get my lovin' on the run…'"

Her fingers curled into the fabric covering his chest and her breath danced over the skin of his cheek as she asked, "Are you all those things, Johnny?'

He felt something stir in his chest, something that squeezed his heart and made it difficult to breath. If he had met this girl back in college, or even at home in Albuquerque, he would have taken her to a fancy restaurant. Maybe he would have taken her dancing afterwards, somewhere with a big band, not a DJ, so they could hear each other, and he would have recited French poetry in an attempt to woo her.

But that was Marshall Mann.

Johnny Miller, on the other hand, would not bother with fancy dinners or French poetry. He would buy her a shot and pull her out back to his bike, light up and see just how far this Jersey girl would let him get.

Johnny Miller won out.

He stole a kiss on the dance floor, his hands firmly planted on her hips to pull her in tight as his tongue sought entrance. She let him in with a moan that made his toes curl, her arms coming up to circle his neck. He tasted liquor on her tongue, with a hint of cinnamon, too. His fingers found their way under the hem of her tank top as hers threaded through his hair. She gave his hair a light tug, sending heat racing down his spine. He growled into her mouth and gripped her more tightly. He only let her go when she pushed on his chest to come up for air.

"Johnny, what if I told you I wanted to cash in on that ride you owe me?"

* * *

That was how Marshall found himself astride his Harley with a lapful of woman, tucked into a blind spot behind the bar next to a cement retention wall. Both their jackets were tossed across the back of the bike, forgotten until Margaret reached for hers and started rooting through the pockets. While he missed the feeling of her lips on his, he enjoyed the view her new position afforded him.

She came back with a lighter and a joint.

Marshall watched as she lit up and took a drag. The sweet smell of the smoke filled the air as she held her breath and exhaled moments later. She must have seen something strange in his expression because she pulled back, held the joint to the side and considered him.

"Don't tell me biker-gang Johnny's never smoked a little weed before."

She held the lit joint out to him. He accepted the proffered drugs, took a long drag as his eyes locked with hers and handed it back when he was done.

"Just like pool-shark Margaret's never taken a man back here to get a little extra buzz before screwing." He enjoyed watching her expression change from "shocked" to "determined". Marshall decided to push a little harder and see what he could get. "You ever gonna tell me your real name? If not, you're gonna hafta promise not to smack me when I moan out "Margaret" in the heat of passion."

She took another hit. "What makes you think you're getting anything now?"

He gave her his best lazy smile, lifted her hand to his mouth to take another hit off the joint as his free arm snaked around her waist. He pulled her closer, careful to grind her against his hard on as he released her wrist. As he held his breath, he grazed the tips of his fingers under her red tank top, skipping over her ribs to play with her nipples through her thin bra. He exhaled with a shit-eating grin as she moaned under his ministrations, her head falling back and her body arching into his touch. He sat up, bringing her closer to him as he took the joint from her and carefully stripped her out of her tank top.

Her bra was black lace; he could just make out her nipples in the dim glow of the bar's distant neon sign.

He managed to pull his gaze from her breasts to meet her lust-glazed eyes. He allowed himself to sink more deeply into the persona of Johnny to answer her, even as Marshall cringed internally at the response.

"I think I'm getting some because I got you to share your pot, out of your top and my hands on your tits, all without losing any limbs. If you wanted to stop me, you would have by now."

She took the joint back and took one last, long drag before flicking it away. Suddenly, her hands were framing his face, pulling him into a kiss. Her tongue worked its way into her mouth and she breathed into him. Smoked flowed out of her lungs and into his as she worked her way into his jeans and wrapped a hand around his cock; he jumped up into the touch as if he'd been electrocuted. Margaret pulled away to catch her breath as he skated his mouth down her neck to suckle at her collarbone.

Defying the laws of physics, they managed to get him out of his shirt and his pants open enough to free his hard on without breaking the rhythm of their kisses; somehow, her boots were off, her panties and jeans around one ankle. His fingers dug into her hips as she hovered above him, her mouth working against the pulse point in his neck.

"Margaret… do we… do we need anything?" If he hadn't had a nearly-naked woman in his lap, Marshall would have been embarrassed by his inability to form a simple question.

Her response was non-verbal: she sank onto him and he moaned as her tight, wet warmth enveloped him. Marshall found himself frustrated by his inability to meet her thrusts. If he didn't keep his feet firmly planted on the ground, they would easily spill off the bike into the dirt, weeds, cigarette butts and who knows what else. He lost himself in the feeling of her moving above him, his right hand between them so he could play with her clit and his mouth working her neck. She broke apart around him in short order, her moans muffled by his shoulder. He soon followed, surging into her with his own release.

Without really thinking about it, he used his shirt to clean them up before helping her get dressed. He threw the shirt into a stand of nearby weeds and zipped his jacket all the way up to defend against the slight chill in the early autumn air. She remained on his lap even after they were dressed, catching her breath and lazily kissing him at intermittent intervals. Soon, too soon for Marshall's liking, she lifted herself off of him and took a step back from the motorcycle. She looked thoroughly fucked; his male ego purred with pride.

"So… you gonna tell me your real name?"

She gave a mirthless laugh. "It's a little late for that, isn't it?" She turned and began to walk away.

"Not if I want to call and see you again!" he shouted after her.

Margaret turned, but kept walking backwards, heading toward the bar. "I'm around. If you keep hanging out here, you'll see me again. Although, I've been told that too much of me is bad for a man's health."

He laughed, started his bike and returned to his very empty apartment. He was kept warm by dreams filled with a tall, athletic blonde riding him.

* * *

Three days later, Marshall found himself at the same bar, hoping to see her again and waiting to hear from the Lost about whether or not they needed him to move any more product. Suddenly, the door flew open and patrons began shouting, cussing with panic. Navy windbreakers, proudly declaring "U.S. MARSHALS" streamed in through the front and back doors. It appeared that his tenure with the Lost was finally at an end; the most frustrating part now would be keeping his mouth shut while his own people treated him like a criminal. His only hope was that someone who knew his identity would step in for him shortly.

Suddenly, he was on his knees, fingers laced behind his head.

Truth be told, he wasn't even all that surprised that it was Margaret cuffing him.

* * *

What did you guys think? Please let me know, and like I said before, feel free to suggest songs you think would make a good part of this series!


	2. What's My Name

I know that at first blush this is a strange song for this couple, but please, bear with me. I promise they're not going to be out of character, cross my heart and hope to die.

-Katie

* * *

_Okay, away we go,  
Only thing we have on is the radio:  
Let it play.  
Say you gotta leave, but I know you wanna stay.  
You just waiting on the traffic jam to finish, girl?  
The things that we could do in twenty minutes, girl…_  
-"What's My Name", Rihanna feat. Drake

* * *

She hated these goddamn events; it was nothing but a lot of standing around and trying to not look like you could neutralize any given person around you in 30 seconds flat.

At least there was free booze.

And free food.

Mary couldn't help the jumpy air about her as she jabbed at the up button and glanced around the marble lobby. _Just because the friggin' President of the goddamn United States comes to town, it's all hands on deck for security detail_, she thought with a sigh. Lord knew it was the only way you'd ever find Mary Shannon in a little black dress with a plunging neckline and gun strapped to her inner thigh. Her fingers itched with agitation as the elevator seemed to creep to the top of the Sunshine Building. She wondered where her partner had gotten to; he had muttered something to her about going to see Abigail (she still rolled her eyes at the name, six months after Marshall had introduced her to his "girlfriend") before vanishing two hours ago.

Mary made a mental note to hide the stash of origami paper he kept in his desk as payback for leaving her with a very talkative, egotistical intern traveling with the President's detail.

She tried to be kind about Abigail, but it was hard. She had realized after Mexico that Faber was nothing but a mistake and would never be anything more. If she was honest, she had been hoping to take Marshall up on what he had seemed to be offering when she got back, only to find that he had met a cute local cop who seemed born to fawn over her gangly partner. For the past half year she had endured the hand holding, the phone calls while on duty, covering for him when "Abby" started to ask too many questions and so on. She jolted out of her musings as the car came to a stop, tapping her clutch against her right thigh.

The door slid open, revealing… blackness.

She knew she had left at least her desk lamp on before leaving for the gala. Her rhythmic tapping stopped as she stepped into the office, her eyes adjusting from the brightness of the elevator to the sudden drop of light. Mary strained to hear anything in the room; she noticed that her desk lamp was indeed still on. It struck her as odd how weak the light suddenly seemed. She walked to the security door, heels clicking on the tile as she went. Mary paused after buzzing herself in, her eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness, and looked around in an attempt to see the reason for the peculiarity that seemed to pervade the office.

She spotted his silhouette, a slightly darker patch of black against the stars and Albuquerque sky that shown through the windows; he was perched on the edge of his desk, facing hers as he gazed into the night. She could just make out the familiar shape of a Jameson bottle in his left hand.

Mary pursed her lips and walked right to her desk, careful not to look at him as she began rifling through papers to take home. "You know, that's the second bottle of whiskey you owe me," she tossed over her shoulder, casual.

"Why are you here, Mary?"

Typical Marshall; she let out an exasperated breath and kept searching for the file she'd come back for. If she was lucky, maybe she could get to a bar before closing and find a man to go home with.

"Traffic still sucks from the President's motorcade, so I was gonna wait it out here. Plus, I need the Russ file. The daughter's in trouble with the nuns at her school again and I gotta find a way to smooth everything over."

He gave a mirthless chuckle. "What'd she do this time?"

"She was smoking in the bathroom again. Didn't even bother to hide or deny it when she was caught, either."

"Little Maria sounds like a younger version of you," he stated, his voice lower than usual.

Mary turned to face her partner, propping herself against her own desk to mirror his position. He looked rumpled, but good. He had discarded his jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms; his white oxford was undone to the third button. With what he affectionately referred to as his "dress boots" polished, gun on his hip and whiskey bottle gently tangled in his grasp, he was the picture of a modern day cowboy. He caught her inventory of his appearance and smirked.

"What are you thinking, Mare?"

"You… you look like a modern cowboy. All you're missing is a horse and duster." She didn't voice her desire to see him wear clothes like this more often. Or her sudden need to see the clothes on his back rumpled on her bedroom floor.

He took her words into consideration, took a hit of whiskey straight from the bottle and resumed looking at the night sky. The mood felt tense, as if saying the wrong thing would cause nearly seven years of perfect partnership to shatter. But Mary Shannon never shied away from risk.

"What are you thinking, Marshall?"

The air between them vibrated with unspoken tension built from hours of togetherness and years of frustrated advances. Marshall's eyes slid to meet hers. She moved close to hear what he was about to say, fought to not be driven to distraction by the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of his body wash and something purely Marshall. He smelled like desert heat, heat she could feel radiating through his thin dress clothes to settle deep in her belly.

"I'm thinking about us," he admitted, his eyes still fixed over her shoulder, on her desk and the window beyond. He was envisioning something, something she couldn't yet see.

She fought to keep the puzzled expression off her face.

"What about us?"

Mary fidgeted, the thigh holster becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. It had been a poor choice to wear with thigh-highs, the elastic band and Velcro catching uncomfortably where bare skin met silk stocking. Marshall, ever the observant partner who lived to give her what she needed, noticed her discomfort. She realized just how much he had to drink when she felt his fingertips skim over her knee and up her leg to undo the fastenings and slip the holster off her; sober Marshall would never be so bold. His actions startled Mary, causing her hands to go to his shoulders for support as she stumbled forward slightly. When she settled, she stood straddling his right knee; Marshall kept his right hand hidden beneath the skirt of her dress, fingers toying with the lace band on her stocking as his left hand discarded her weapon and took hold of the neck of the bottle. His fingers caressed the glass neck as he tipped more of the amber liquid down his throat in much the same manner as he was stroking the soft skin of her upper thigh, and Mary felt herself tremble at the visual.

"Us in the biblical sense, Mary."

She felt her breathing go shallow, her heart rate speed up as the weight of his words sunk in. She knew she was playing with fire but couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

"How do you see us, Marshall?"

He set the bottle down a second time and brought his left hand to her waist, pulling her flush against his body and causing her to fully straddle his right leg. His right hand stayed on her left thigh as her arms came around his neck; Marshall, she noticed with amusement, glanced at her cleavage before letting his azure gaze dance over her collarbone, skip across her lips and finally met her own green-hazel eyes. His lips were millimeters from her own, so close she could taste the whiskey on him, yet, he never kissed her. Instead, he rested his chin on her shoulder, his warm breath caressing the lobe of her ear as he told her what he envisioned.

"You're beautiful in this dress, Mare, but what I really want to see is what the skirt of it looks like rucked up around your hips, your legs," he ran a finger up her hip to the edge of her panties to emphasize his point, "akimbo around my head when I lay you over your desk. I want to know how you taste when I put my tongue on you, want to see your nipples pebble under my fingers and feel your nails scrape through my hair when you beg me not to stop."

He hugged her more tightly to him, and Mary could feel his rock-hard cock press insistently against her right hip. Even through clothing, she could tell he was larger than her past conquests, and felt an embarrassing amount of wetness soak through her panties. Her nipples tightened against the fabric of her bra and Mary fought the urge to rock her hips against his thigh to find relief; her only consolation was the fact that she could feel Marshall tremble beneath her as he fought the same urge. His words painted a vivid picture in her mind, of her spread across a wood desktop while he made love to her, his cock stretching her as he murmured sinfully lurid details of what he felt in her ear.

Mary felt herself flush and tightened her hold around his neck. Marshall's breath was strained as it tumbled over her neck and shoulder. She fought the urge to force his lips to her own, to steal his breath and chase her release like she did with most other men.

"I wonder how wet and tight you'll be when I push into you, if you'll keen or moan at the sensation, if you'll like it better when I suckle your neck or scrape my teeth against your collarbone. But for all I wonder, there are some things I know, Mare. I know you want me how I want you, even though you've been so damn stubborn about it you've driven us into the arms of other people. Yet, hope springs eternal, Mare, and I know we'll come together someday soon."

He placed a kiss where her neck met her shoulder and released his grip on her, allowing her to float off his warm lap and back into the cold reality of a dark rooftop office.

Marshall observed her like a hawk, for how long, Mary couldn't tell. It felt like time had stopped as they stared at each other, an entire seduction played out in looks: a kiss, a touch, a caress, a moan until they crashed into oblivion together. His eyes promised her a million things she never thought she could have, and as a result, never let herself want.

Mary found that now, though, still warm from the heat of her partner's body, she wanted each of those things very, very much.

Marshall moved first, capping the whiskey bottle as he spoke.

"Traffic should be better now. I need to get home. There's a conversation I need to have." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, then gathered his jacket and tie before turning to leave.

"And, Mare?"

"Hmm?"

"I also know that the past twenty minutes were some of the best you've ever had with a man, naked or clothed."

He let himself out the security door and just gave her a small smile as the elevator doors closed between them. Mary herself turned, gathered the file she had come for and shut off her desk lamp. She looked at the polished desktop and felt a shudder run down her spine; she would never get any work done here again with the images Marshall had planted in her mind.

She smiled as she let herself out. Hopefully by tomorrow night, she and Marshall would be trying to beat that twenty minute mark.

* * *

As always, please let me know what you think. And, of course, feel free to suggest song titles for future chapters. Like I said, I plan on keeping this going for a while, so don't be shy about your suggestions.


	3. 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

This is not a song I originally intended to use, but I read some season four spoilers the other day, and later this song came on the radio, and it just clicked into place. That being said, there are allusions to season four spoilers as they stand now; while it's a spoiler that's pretty well out there for the world to know by now, if you don't want to be exposed to it, now is your chance to run.

Sorry it's so short; I just needed this plot bunny to go away so I could focus on finals!

-Katie

* * *

_She said, "Why don't we both  
Just sleep on it tonight?  
And I believe in the morning,  
You'll begin to see the light."  
And then she kissed me,  
And I realized she probably was right;  
There must be fifty ways to leave your lover._

- "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover", Paul Simon

* * *

He hates the fact that she's pregnant.

He mostly hates it because it's such a damn surprise; he never figured Mary to be the mothering type, and he doubted she ever did, either, but here they were. A quite part of him whispers that the real reason he hates the slight swell of her belly, her fuller breasts and the fertile glow emanating from his partner is because he didn't put it there, and he doesn't get to enjoy it the way a soon-to-be father would.

He beats that voice back with 10 mile runs or an hour of weights a day, sometimes both. He showers at the Sunshine Building so he can avoid going home to Abby. Abby, who loves him and now that his partner is pregnant, has apparently caught the nesting bug and keeps dropping hints that she'd like to have a baby, too. He keeps that ready-made fight at bay by hiding behind traditionalism, insisting that he's always wanted to be married before starting a family.

He leaves it unspoken that he'd be willing to make an exception for Mary.

He lets the scalding water pour over him as he ponders his peculiar situation. He knows that sooner or later (probably sooner), Abby will know that she's someone he loves, but is not the love of his life. He knows he's an asshole for staying with her when he knows full well she'll never be his first choice, but he's getting older and has a fear of being alone for the rest of his life, pining for a brash blonde with commitment issues. But, try as he might, he can't bring himself to be the good man everyone else thinks he is: Marshall, Spewer of Trivia, Tamer of Wild Things, Protector of Witnesses, is, at heart, the Bastard Who Leads One Woman On While Wanting Another.

He decides he's royally fucked whether he's home or not and shuts off the water. He drips dry for a minute before reaching for his towel. Comfortable in the fact he's alone, he begins to towel dry his hair as he opens the curtain standing between him and the rest of the small U.S.M.S. locker room. While they're always on call, it's rare to have any Marshal in the building past 7 p.m.; at 9:30, he's assured to be alone.

At least, that's what he thought.

He quickly brought the towel to wrap around his waist as soon as he heard her clear her throat.

"Easy, there, Marshall, I'm going to be a mother; you can't walk around flashing your junk like that anymore." Her smile was easy as the light jab passed her lips.

"You know, Mare, you seem to have a thing for surprising guys in locker rooms. If I had known earlier…" He let the sentence trail off, allowing her to infer whatever meaning she wanted. All he could think now was that his sanctuary was no longer safe; couldn't go home, couldn't stay at work, Marshall Mann's only seeming option now was to stay on the move. Neither woman could target him if he just kept moving.

He walked to his locker, stuck his head inside as he pretended to get ready. He didn't want to look at her, couldn't look at her. It had been bad before, with Raph, but at least it hadn't seemed so damn permanent. Now, whether she gave the baby up like she had been talking about or not, it was set in stone, she was a mother to someone, even if she didn't raise the child. He felt tears well at the corners of his eyes as he imagined the different outcome if he had been the one to put her in the family way, imagined that perhaps they could make it work despite her apparent dislike of infants. He grabbed his deodorant and clutched it like a lifeline as she began talking.

"Funny, numb-nuts. Marshall, I wanted to talk to you about something, something that's been bothering me."

"Oh?" One-syllable answers were his best bet at this point for making it out alive.

"Like that! Marshall, eight months ago, you were so firmly planted in my head it was freaky. But, suddenly, you disappear. I don't get it; you're my only friend, you're not supposed to abandon me, certainly when I'm alone for the first time in my life. Brandi and Jinx both have their shit together, which I'm pretty sure is a sign of the End of Days, and I'm falling apart. What's worse, I'm falling apart without my best friend to help. What gives?"

There goes the one syllable plan.

"What gives? Nothing 'gives', Mare, we're both just busy. You with picking a family for the baby and me trying to settle in with Abby. It's just how life goes sometimes…"

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'Bullshit'. You didn't move in with Abby until after I told you I was pregnant. I get knocked up and you turn tail and run; did you think I wouldn't notice? Do you even love her, or is it a better-than-nothing kind of deal for you, because I can tell you, I tried that shit with Raph and Faber, and settling never works out well. In my case, it ended with me knocked up. The Shannon women, for the win, as always."

Her tone held none of her usual caustic sarcasm, which was unusual in and of itself. Marshall forced himself to look at her as he put his deodorant back in his locker. Verdant eyes held his gaze, surprisingly open for the nature of the conversation they were having.

"Mare, you're pregnant, and…"

"And what? I'm damaged goods? You know damn well I'm not getting back together with him. The baby's being put up for adoption. What, pray tell, is keeping you from—"

"From what? From what, Mare? From asking you out on a date? From telling you I want to be with you?" He stepped towards her with every question. "I tried that, before you ran off to Mexico. You knew damn well what I was trying to tell you, and you ran off anyway. I can't live my life waiting for you to decide you're ready for me, Mary, not every aspect of my existence has to march to your beat."

She held her ground and managed not to scream back at him. "She deserves better than to be second choice. I should know; I've been the second choice before. Part of her knows, part of her is dreading finding out for sure. You owe it to her to let her go, let her find the man that will make her his first choice."

"And what do I do then?"

Gently, oh so gently, she tugged on his wrist to bring his body closer to hers. Slowly, so he could stop at any time, she placed a chaste kiss on his lips, careful not to push him too hard or too fast. It amazed Marshall whenever she showed she understood what was in his head, she did it so rarely. He returned the kiss for a fraction of a second before she pulled away. Her voice held no fear, anger or concern when she next spoke.

"You go for your first choice, Marshall. You deserve that happiness, too."

He watched as she left the room, the taste of her stamped permanently on his lips. Marshall dressed quickly, eager to get out of the locker room. He had no idea of what he was going to tell Abigail, or when, but he knew she was right.

He had to find a way to leave his lover.

* * *

I know, I know, its back-to-back Marshall abandons a woman for Mary… but the plot bunny was too tempting to ignore. I do hope you enjoyed it! As always, if you did, please review. Reviews, aside from motivating me to write more and update more frequently, will probably be the fuel I run on for spring finals. Please, throw a girl a bone! ;-)


	4. Want To

It was suggested that it would be great to see Mary's reaction to finding out that Marshall from the first chapter was undercover. I couldn't agree more, and without further ado, here it is. Please enjoy, and as always, read and review.

-Katie

* * *

_Whole world could change in a minute,  
Just one kiss can stop it spinnin'.  
We could think it through,  
But I don't want to, if you don't want to._

_We could keep things just the same,  
Leave here the way we came  
With nothing to lose…  
But I don't want to, if you don't want to._

"Want To", Sugarland

* * *

She figured it was some kind of karmic justice that she handcuffed Johnny, her biker indiscretion from the other night. The fact that he kept his mouth shut instead of being a smartass about the cuffs caused her some concern, but she suppressed it while shoving him into the back of a squad car before heading off to find where her partner, Devins, had hidden himself for the raid. Devins had been with the U.S.M.S. for 20 years, and was bitter about being stuck with a 24 year old fresh out of the academy. He didn't care that she had been top of her class, or that she had passed her skills tests with ease. He had no interest in mentoring up-and-coming marshals, and used their partnership as an opportunity to hide at his desk while he sent her into the field to handle what he called the "messy" work.

His version of "messy" usually involved Mary being shot at, or crawling through the worst parts of town, while Devins guzzled another coffee with a glazed cake doughnut.

Mary was fine with the arrangement, although others in the office who were closer to her age suggested that she complain or file for a transfer. She had been a loner for so long she failed to see anything wrong with how she and Devins operated and was just glad to have relative autonomy. She figured that as long as he could do his thing and she could do hers without the upper brass bitching, she wasn't going to rock the boat. As long as the two of them kept up appearances of being a working unit, everything would be just fine.

She caught sight of Johnny as the cruiser drove away and felt a shiver run down her spine as their eyes met. She had made a huge mistake when she followed her baser urges the other night, but damned if it wasn't fun. She shook off the mental replay and headed back to Newark. Worse comes to worse, she could at least prevent Johnny from spilling the beans and ruining her career before it even started.

* * *

She was greeted by Devins as she entered the bullpen and had to stifle a chuckle when she noticed crumbs from his lunch still sprinkled across his chest.

"Shannon, I have to book. There's an emergency at home. I left the finished paperwork on my desk. The chief is looking for you, wants you to meet the guy we had on the inside. Apparently it's thanks to him we were able to take down The Lost, never mind the man hours we put in on it here."

Mary suppressed an eye roll; Devins hadn't seen the outside of the office since about 1987 according to popular lore among the Newark marshals and in the eight years subsequent hadn't seemed all that eager to change that. He wouldn't know what actual man hours on a fugitive task force looked like if they bit him in the ass. Mary watched him as he disappeared into the elevator before finding her way to the section chief's office.

Chief Eckers had been friendly to Mary during her tenure with Newark, and had even taken her bitching about working with the boys from New York in stride. Mary had admired the older woman's aplomb when she told the NYC office to shove it when they tried to requisition even more marshals for this biker case; she was 5'3" of piss and vinegar, and the closest thing to an admirable mother figure Mary had ever known. She would gladly kill for the woman without thinking twice. She rapped her knuckles on the door and entered when bid. Mary felt the bottom of her stomach drop out when she noticed her chief wasn't alone. A man sat in the office, facing away from the door. He turned as she came in, and Mary knew it must look as if she saw a ghost.

Johnny Miller was sitting in Cynthia Eckers' office, bold as anything, smiling at her.

"Mary Shannon, meet Marshall Mann, on loan to us from the Albuquerque office."

She forced herself to return his smile as she shook his hand, trying not to think about where that hand had done to her just four days ago. Another involuntary shiver ran through her and she prayed Eckers didn't notice her strange reaction.

"Inspector Mann was brought in by the New York office. They were afraid our boys would be recognized during a long-term sting. He did a damn fine job, too, despite their best efforts." Cinnamon skin crinkled around chocolate eyes as she grinned at Mary, sharing their own private joke at expense of the boys across New York Bay.

Mann seemed uncomfortable during the exchange and fidgeted in his seat before answering, "I'm just happy I could help. It was nice to have something to do other than running errands and waiting for a permanent posting."

"We were happy to have you; if I thought I could talk McQueen into giving you to us, I would, but that man is a lethal combination of savvy and stubborn. Mary," Eckers said, turning her attention back to the blonde, "make sure Marshall here makes it to his hotel alright. He's already been debriefed and has a flight to catch back home early tomorrow morning."

"Sure, Chief."

Mann stood and shook hands with Eckers, saying, "Thanks again for the opportunity. Let me know if there's anything else you need from me."

"Thank you, Inspector Mann, but we have what we need. Have a safe flight home, and tell Stan that Cynthia says, 'hello'."

With that, he exited the office, and Mary found herself facing the prospect of chauffeuring her strategic error around for the next 18 hours or so.

She was fucked.

* * *

The pair sat in the basement garage, Mary staring out the windshield of a non-descript government sedan, keys held slack in her hand, as she tried to will the other inspector's eyes off of her. Mann finally spoke up.

"You know, cars tend to run a whole lot better when you actually put the key in the ignition and turn it."

She turned to more fully look at him, took in the faded jeans, white undershirt and black leather jacket. He looked nearly the same as he had the other night, but now he had none of the relaxed bravado from before. Now, he was in marshal mode, weary and well aware of his surroundings. Mary could practically feel the tension radiating off him while he tried to decide how to handle her.

She hated being handled.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

He blinked at her, measuring his words before responding.

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes. Mary hated repeating herself.

"I asked you what the fuck is your problem was."

"Other than you swearing at me for no reason, I don't have a problem."

She let out a mirthless laugh. "So, you make it a habit of banging random women in bars while undercover?"

"Do you make a habit out of smoking weed and banging random men while on a sting?"

"Nice misdirect, numbnuts."

To her surprise, the gangly man laughed instead of reacting with the anger she expected out of most men in her line of work when their masculinity was questioned.

"Just pointing out the mutual hypocrisy," he stated, giving her a sly grin. Mary hated to admit, even to herself, that it made her stomach flutter pleasurably. She hadn't noticed just how blue his eyes were before. Taking a deep breath, Mary put the key in the ignition and started the engine. She would get him to his hotel and ignore him until it was time to drive him to the airport. Less time spent in his company meant less time to get herself into trouble.

"Where am I taking you?"

"The Hilton near the train station," he replied as he watched the city passing by his window.

"How in the hell did you get a room there? I'm lucky if they let me stay at the Motel 8 when we travel."

He chuckled again while saying, "Twenty months undercover curries favor with the boys upstairs. I'm just happy to get into some of my own clothes again."

She drank him in out of the corner of her eye, thought that it would be a damn shame if he got rid of those jeans.

"What was that?"

Shit. She had said that out loud.

"Nothing. Just talking to myself."

Mary risked a glance at him to see if he bought her bullshit. He grin clearly told her he didn't. She drove as quickly as she could to the hotel, refusing to speak unless spoken to. Pulling into the circle drive brought the relief of knowing she could soon escape this odd man that knocked her off balance with seeming ease.

"You know," he spoke softly, hand on the door handle, "they gave me a stipend, too, for dinner and such. It seems like too much for me to spend by my lonesome. Would you like to join me for dinner? You pick and I'll treat."

Mary's eyes narrowed, struggling to determine what exactly his motives were.

"Why?"

He gave a strange giggle, shaking his head as he said, "You've never been told to not look a gift horse in the mouth, have you? Look, I have no ulterior motive, other than I hate eating alone and besides language that would make a sailor blush, you seem to be good company. How do you feel about Spanish food? I heard some other marshals talking about a place called Spanish Tavern near the office, seems like a decent place to go."

Mary's stomach growled at the mention of food. She, too, had heard good things about Spanish Tavern, but couldn't afford their prices on a rookie's salary. Marshall had heard it growl too, if his slightly wider grin were any indication.

"Can I take that as a yes?"

Mary nodded as she spoke, "Yeah, I could do dinner. Look, it's 5 o'clock now. I need to run home and wash up. How about I meet you back here at 7?"

"Sounds good," he replied as he grabbed his duffle out of the backseat. "It's a date."

With that, he shut the door and headed into the lobby, leaving Mary to wonder what, exactly, he had meant by "date".

* * *

She knocked on the door to 524 at 6:55 p.m., tugging on the hem of the little black dress she had taken from her sister's closet. The way Brandi ran though things, she wouldn't even notice it was missing for at least a month or two. Mary had to keep reminding herself that this was not a date; this was dinner with a colleague to celebrate the end of a sting, even though a little voice in the back of her head kept laughing at her. If this wasn't a date, it queried, why had she bothered with a dress, heels, shaving, perfume and the best bra and panty set she owned? And why was her throat dry and her heart pounding?

The door swung open before she could get too far inside her head and freak herself out. Mary was amused to see that in addition to the charcoal gray suit and white button up he wore sans tie, he had changed his work boots in for cowboy boots; a smile involuntarily spread across her face. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice as he was too busy looking her up and down.

"You look really nice."

She arched an eyebrow, and her voice took on a dangerous tone as she asked, "Nice?"

"Telling you anything more emphatic than that would likely result in my losing a valuable limb. Also, it's all you deserve for thinking mean things about my boots," he explained as he put the "do not disturb" sign on the door knob and made sure the door locked.

How in the world did he know what she was thinking?

"I saw your smirk. You're not the first and you won't be the last to think my boots are strange, but I'm attached to them." He placed a hand on the small of her back and gestured toward the elevators. "Shall we?"

She knew she hadn't said anything out loud that time, and it was making her uneasy how well he was able to read her. If she was being absolutely truthful, it would be useful if her partner could read her even half as well, but, fat chance of that ever happening. She hated to admit, even to herself, that while it made her uneasy, she didn't really mind this particular quirk.

* * *

Dinner was a pleasant, if crowded affair. Tables and chairs had been packed into the main dining room to allow the restaurant to make a maximum profit.

To be perfectly honest, after sharing two bottles of _rioja gran reserva_, Mary found she didn't really care about the cramped conditions. She was at a loss as to what to think of Marshall; he was so different from the man she had met a few nights ago. Instead of a brash, overbearing personality she expected, he was polite, almost shy and a bit of a geek. However, his sly sense of humor kept her intrigued. When she made the requisite sexual innuendo after their appetizer of mussels marinara arrived, he merely replied that he doubted either of them needed extra help, he just liked the taste; he then proceeded to slurp the meat from the shell in a way that made Mary fidget and blush. When he launched into the various facts about where and how mussels were eaten around the world immediately after, she blamed the wine for her reaction. There was no way a man who was able to spout useless trivia could actually follow through on any sexual innuendo he made.

Right?

* * *

Mary had meant to drop him off at the hotel; maybe walk him up to his room to make sure he got inside alright. She certainly hadn't meant to wind up in the bar, chatting with him over drinks. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, a fact that disquieted Mary greatly; she was annoyed with how easily she fell into this routine with him, the easy back-and-forth. She wanted to be pissed, but couldn't actually bring herself around to it. She also found herself distracted by the way his long, nimble fingers wrapped around his tumbler, along with the way his eyes seemed so focused on her; not her assets, but all of her, from her eyes and mouth to her hands. He took in all of her and used that to guide the conversation. She used a lull in the conversation to do some directing of her own.

"Why did you ask me to dinner?"

He answered without hesitation, "I told you, you seem like good company, and I couldn't spend the money they gave me alone." He shrugged a bit and took another sip while glancing at her sideways.

"You could have asked anyone else, so, why me?"

"Mary, I honestly had no ulterior motive other than to have dinner with an attractive woman who is able to carry a conversation about something other than celebrities and lipstick. That's all."

"You think I'm attractive?"

Marshall chuckled as he finished his drink. Mary followed suit as he said, "I'm glad you picked out the most important part of that statement." He set the empty glass on the wooden counter with a soft clink before leaning against it with one elbow to look at her. "Yes, Mary, I think you're attractive. I would figure that was obvious, since I clearly threw caution to the wind during a long-term undercover operation in order to sleep with you. But, honestly, I just wanted good company tonight. I spent 20 months talking about cars and booze and weed and women in the basest sense. I needed to get away from that."

She considered him for a long moment, trying to determine his sincerity.

"If you had the chance, would you do it all over again?"

"For the chance to be with you? In a heartbeat."

Mary knew an honest answer when she heard one, thanks to living with liars for all of her 24 years on earth. She slid to the edge of her stool, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, long and slow. His arms wrapped around her, gentle and warm around her waist as he deepened the kiss. Somehow, she never would figure out how, Mary managed to maneuver them out of the bar, into the elevator and back towards his room. Marshall got them through the door, all the while keeping his lips attached to her neck and holding her against him. Before she knew it, they were both out of their clothes and on the bed.

As skinny as he was, he still felt large over her, and the warmth he radiated was oddly reassuring. When he penetrated her, he was careful to go slow and make sure she got her pleasure before he found his. It was rare, for her, to find a considerate lover and the difference spurred Mary to try and force a faster pace on him. She knew how to handle wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, not what Marshall was giving to her. Still, despite her insistence, Marshall kept the pace slow, all while talking to her. Mary was surprised he didn't go to the, "Baby, you're so tight" well of bedroom talk. Instead, he focused more on the moment.

He told her how her skin felt against his, how enchanting he found her eyes. He whispered that he had dreamed of her, had wished after that night behind the bar that he had had the chance to be a more active participant. Told her she was delicious, and that he could easily become addicted to the feel of her against his mouth. When she finally came undone, it was a lengthy affair with him caressing every inch of her within reach while he kept the same steady pace with in her, sending Mary over the precipice again and again and again before finally succumbing to passion himself. He kissed her once, sweetly, before pulling away and hauling her against him to doze.

They woke twice more, and twice more Marshall raised her expectations of men in the bedroom. They finally fell asleep at 4 a.m., spent.

* * *

Marshall woke her at 7 a.m. with a kiss to the temple and dexterous fingers between her thighs before rolling them out of bed and into the shower. Mary had him one last time against the slick tile wall, both of them giggling with nervous energy the entire time. When the water grew cold and her stomach growled, he promised her pancakes to get her moving.

When they finally arrived at the airport, Mary found herself reluctant to let him go, and so found herself parking the car and walking him to his gate. A flash of her badge took care of security. They watched the airplanes come and go for several minutes before Mary finally spoke up.

"So, this is it."

"Yeah."

Even less than 24 hours with the man had taught Mary that such a minimal response from him was unusual. He broke the silence next.

"Look, if you're ever in Albuquerque, look me up." He slid his business card into her back pocket as he spoke.

"Looking for another roll in the hay?" Mary couldn't help but fight the urge to question his motives, even after he had shown her time and time again he was not what she usually expected from men. She gave him her best flirtatious grin in an attempt to soften the inquiry.

"Only if you want. I'm more so looking to strike up a friendship. If sex comes with it, all the better."

With that, he kissed her cheek and made his way down the gangway to the plane.

She had always meant to call, meant to make her way out west. But, that view of him boarding Flight 9187 to Albuquerque was the last she would see of him for eight years.

* * *

Fin

This was longer than I expected. There's also room to keep this "reality" going, if you guys think it's worth it. Let me know. As always, thanks for reading!

-Katie


	5. Yee Haw

Pardon the observation, but there has been a lot (and I mean A LOT) of depressing ish on here lately. I'm doin' something about it with a Marshall-centric bar-brawl chapter. This one's short, but hopefully whets your appetite for more.

As always, please enjoy and review!

-Katie

*Now edited to fix stupid mistakes that come for writing/posting at 2am!*

* * *

_The place is packed,  
The line is long,  
The band knows every Haggard song.  
I'm gettin' loose,  
I've had a few.  
She wants to dance?  
I do, too!  
But her boyfriend's mad, I,  
I think he wants to brawl…  
Alright, Yee haw!_

- "Yee Haw", Jake Owen

* * *

Marshall Mann was quite certain he had never had so much to drink at any previous point in his life, not even trying to impress sorority girls at house parties during his undergrad days. His eyes were getting heavy, and he could barely remember what he had done five minutes prior, but he was filled with an exuberance that could not be contained. He wanted to be everywhere at once, and but for the guidance of his older brother, he would have been a mess running from the bar to the DJ booth to the mechanical bull in the far corner.

In fact, as his muddled mind saw it, it was Christopher's fault he was in the state he was in; he had come down for his graduation from the USMS training program, and insisted on taking him out to celebrate. Marshall should have smelled trouble when he was taken to a roadhouse in the middle of nowhere, but with his elder brother's assurance that this was where he had gone upon his completion and that he wouldn't let him do anything too stupid, Marshall agreed to have, in his words, "a few beers."

That had been four five-bottle buckets and two trips on the mechanical bull ago, and Marshall felt no need to stop, not when he was feeling so good.

Before his world became completely blurry, he met a petite brunette that caught his attention. She had sparkling green eyes and curves that seemed to defy the few laws of gravity his 25 year old brain could recall from college. He would have gladly followed her and her Daisy Dukes anywhere, and did when she asked him to accompany her to the bar. For the price of her name (Dani? Cami? Kimmy?) he kept sliding fresh $20s across the bar in exchange for round after round of tequila shots; she rewarded him by passing him his lime out of her mouth on the last shot, and pulling him forward by the belt loops toward the dance floor when he was done. Just as Marshall reached to slip his hand into her back pocket, he was violently spun around by the shoulder.

The move made his stomach churn as his eyes attempted to focus on what was likely the largest human being Marshall had ever seen. He must have been 9' of pure muscle, all Levis and flannel shirt, and he was mad as hell about something. Marshall, being enterprising, decided to find out what that was.

"What the hell man?" He fought to stop the words from escaping his mouth even as he said them; it was not his natural response, and a small, distant part of his brain was screaming at him that he had just landed himself in serious trouble.

"What the fuck are you doing with my girlfriend?"

Marshall's eye darted from the Mountain to the girl who had somehow maintained her grip on his belt loops.

"Your what?"

"My girlfriend, Connie. What are you doing with her?"

"Who the hell is Connie? This is Kimmy."

He knew he had messed up when heard her short gasp and felt the quick sting of her palm on his cheek; his brother's chuckle and an angry grunt from the Thing were his only warnings before he felt a punch land in his gut. The quick burst of pain and rush of air from his lungs cleared his mind enough to get a good look at his opponent. He was certainly bigger than Marshall, but not trained, and with one good hit, he could have him laid out in no time. Without thinking, he let his recent training take over and dropped into a fighting stance.

The Behemoth attempted to feign right and dart left, but Marshall was ready for him with a block and a strong right-cross to his jaw. He followed with a quick kick to the inside of the giant's knee that should have brought him down, but only served to infuriate the other man. He lunged at Marshall, and in what he was later told was perfect form, tackled Marshall into the table directly behind him. Both men crashed through the table, fist flailing as they fought for purchase. Marshall managed to slip out from under the larger man and came up with a broken stool leg in his hand, breathing hard as he waited for the next attack.

It was then that he noticed the chaos that had broken out as a result of his impromptu fight. His brother was fending off two of Behemoth's friends with a beer bottle, Kimmy was nowhere to be seen, and he had a bull charging him again. He side stepped and watched as momentum carried the man into another table set before he could turn himself back toward Marshall. He used the break to go back-to-back with Christopher, who seemed to be having the time of his life.

"Hey, Marshall, you know what?"

Marshall's eyes tracked the movement of the man in front of him, dimly aware of patrons rushing to get out of the bar and the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Distracted, he answered his older brother.

"Yeah, Chris?"

He heard his brother land a blow to one man's temple and felt him drop like a sack of rocks as he landed his own head shot on Kimmy's boyfriend. He finally went down and stayed down, allowing Marshall to turn around in time to see the other man his brother had taken on turn tail and run.

"Only thing that would have made this better is if Gerry had been here," Chris said with a grin, mentioning the middle Mann son. Both young men were breathing hard, fighting off the giddy laughter that was part and parcel with a fight, alcohol and adrenaline.

Just then, a voice broke the relative calm of the bar.

"This is Lieutenant Ulivi of the Glynn County Sheriff's Department. I need both of you to drop your weapons, get on your knees and lace your fingers behind your heads."

Both of the Mann boys hit their knees and waited for the lieutenant to cuff them.

"Christopher Mann, is that you, boy?"

Marshall caught sight of his brother grinning out of the corner of his eye and was confused; why in the world was he smiling?

"Yes, Lieutenant, it certainly is. How've you been?"

The officer gave a soft chortle as he cuffed Christopher and brought him up to stand.

"Good; life is far quieter without you in town. I thought I saw the last of you once Gerry graduated the program. This isn't the youngest, your father's philosopher?" he queried as he cuffed Marshall, brought him to his feet and turned to look him in the eye.

"Yes, sir, that's Marshall. He sure shocked the hell out of our daddy when he decided to enter the service, but the old man's proud to have each of us go into the USMS."

Marshall saw the lieutenant fight to keep a smile off of his face as he addressed Christopher again.

"You know your daddy was mad as hell the last time I had to call him about you and Gerry. Now you've corrupted the youngest." He chuckled again. "Let's go give the old man a call; I want to see if he's got any new, creative cuss words to teach me this time. Then, maybe we'll see about cutting you two loose."

With that he frog marched the pair into the back of his cruiser.

* * *

Marshall stood on his porch, his arm wrapped around Mary's waist as he waived goodbye to his brother and sister-in-law. Christopher had been passing through on his way back to San Diego and decided to stop by for dinner, and in his words, "to finally meet that gal Dad says you've been hiding." Needless to say, his tales of Marshall's youthful indiscretions had entertained the hell out of Mary.

"I cannot believe he told that story," he sighed as he pulled her closer to him. Mary, in response to his physical proximity, comfortably slid her left hand into his back pocket as she kissed his cheek.

"It's okay, Cowboy; I mean, he could have told us about the time he walked in on you and Katinka…"

Marshall's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he processed his fiancée's words.

"How do know that story, Mare?"

She began to back away and made it over the threshold of their home before muttering something about "while you were cleaning up" and taking off for their bedroom. Marshall gave chase with a whoop and caught her in the living room before dragging her to bed for the night.

He spent the night demonstrating that it had been a long time since he had truly found petite brunettes to his liking.

* * *

FIN

I hope you guys liked this; it's not typical of what I write, and I hope it struck the right tone, or was at the very least an enjoyable read. Please, let me know.


	6. Edge of Glory

So, I seem to be one of the few that actually really, really excited about the pregnancy story line, mostly because I think such a huge change will force Mary and Marshall to get closer than they were last season, at the very least, or even to admit that there's something more between then than strictly friendship. That, with the (hopeful) jettisoning of Abigail (even being a fellow ginger can't save her, in my opinion), makes me really look forward to this set of story lines.

This is my take on what Mary's pregnancy will do to them. Fair warning, the timeline jumps a bit, but I don't think it's so bad that it should confuse anyone. My goal was to leave the timeline loose so people could imagine it their own way, but if there seems to be too much confusion, I'll go back and throw a timeline in. Final disclaimer: I've never been pregnant, nor do I plan on being pregnant in the near future. I'm working off Google here, people, so I've probably gotten a few things wrong. Chalk it up to artistic license.

Credit for the song suggestion goes to Jaime (F5Chaos); I told y'all I'd use suggestions if offered. With that, I hope you enjoy it; let's start the show!

-Katie

* * *

_I'm on the edge of glory,  
And I'm hangin' on a moment of truth,  
Out on the edge of glory,  
And I'm hangin' on a moment with you..._

_I'm on the edge with you._

- "Edge of Glory", Lady Gaga

* * *

Mary Shannon was rarely afraid of anything; her partner had been shot, she'd been shot, she had seen more gore than anyone should ever have to, and few things fazed her by the time she hit 40.

But, now, facing a baby she had never known she wanted, she was terrified.

When her water broke, one night in mid-September, it was all she could do to waddle into her home office and croak out, "It's time to go."

* * *

"Listen, numbnuts, you really need to lay off this at work. If Delia finds out about the parasite, I'm royally screwed. Stan'll have me on desk work from here on out. I can't do paperwork without coffee, no way, no how."

She peered at Marshall from behind her sunglasses. Her lanky best friend paused on his way to his truck and met her gaze.

"Mare, I'll lay off as soon as you start getting yourself to a doctor and eat better. While it's not a crime to have pie, the parasite, as you so affectionately refer to your unborn child, needs more than flour, eggs, filling and sugar to make its way into this world as a healthy individual. You need prenatal vitamins, more protein in your diet, and leafy greens wouldn't hurt, either." He continued to his car, tossing over his shoulder as he went, "But yeah, I can lay off at work."

Mary watched him go before getting into her own vehicle. Little did either of them know the damage was already done.

* * *

They didn't know that, three weeks prior, while Marshall had been pestering Mary about getting a definitive pregnancy test, Delia had snuck up on them and had overheard not everything, but just enough that would merit a mention around the water cooler. She did her damnedest to sit on it, to keep quiet, but when she met some of the girls in ABQ PD for drinks one Friday night, she couldn't help but hint there was a US Marshal who may or may not be pregnant, and it seemed her male partner was a little _too_ concerned with whether or not she was truly in the family way.

Those same beat coppers sent the whispers around their own bullpen, where they eventually found their way to Abigail Chaffee. Being a detective, it didn't take long for her to realize that 1) her boyfriend was one of three male-female duos in the local USMS office and that 2) the fact that Mary no longer found coffee appetizing and the sudden sickness Marshall described her having meant it was most likely the tall, tempestuous blonde who was indeed pregnant.

She met Marshal Marshall Mann at the door to their now-shared home and decided to take a rip-the-band-aid-off approach.

"Is Mary pregnant?"

Her question gave him pause and he took a moment to shut the door behind him before turning to respond.

"Why do you think Mary is pregnant?"

She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue to keep from screaming. "Answering a question with a question isn't a good sign. Are you the father?"

"What are you even talking about?" Marshall didn't even try to hide the exasperated look on his face.

"Mary suddenly hates the taste of coffee; she's throwing up and generally sick when she was in perfect health before. And suddenly, I hear around the water cooler…"

"… water cooler…?" he interjected, the pieces beginning to fall into place.

"… that there's a female marshal whose partner is haranguing her about a pregnancy test. It's not rocket science, Marshall. There aren't many male-female teams in the USMS around here. You're in one of those teams, and your partner isn't acting like her usual self." Abby let out a huff, waiting for him to answer her.

"So, based on office gossip, you want to know if Mary's pregnant, and the follow up question to that is, am I the father." He paused and waited for her slight affirmative nod before continuing. "Whether or not Mary's pregnant is none of your business. I would expect better from you than idle gossip; I would also expect you to think more highly of me that you wouldn't take what's said in whispers seriously and jump to the conclusion that while dating you, I fathered a child with my partner. I have no idea what I did to make you think that, but it means there's an irreparable flaw in this relationship."

"Marshall, this isn't an 'irreparable flaw' if you aren't the father. I just need to know."

He was tempted to give in to her pleading eyes; he did love Abigail, and enjoyed spending time with her, but at the end of the day, she wasn't Mary and he couldn't waste his time trying to make this work, especially not with someone who thought he was capable of dating one woman and siring a child with another.

"Abigail, the fact that you need confirmation that I don't have a baby on the way means you suspect that I'm capable of it. You don't trust me enough for us to make this work." He turned and opened the door before saying, "I think it would be best if you just boxed my things up and left them here by the door; I'll be back for them by Friday."

With that, he walked out.

* * *

"And that's why I broke up with Abigail."

Mary stared at her partner in disbelief; not an hour ago she had bid him goodnight at their cars with a quip about not letting Abigail wear him out. Now, he was on her sofa, Blue Moon in hand as he told her his pesky, perky sorority girl ex-bedmate suspected Mary was pregnant.

Her first thought was concern for Marshall; this was his first serious relationship in a while, and breaking up with her couldn't have been all that easy. Mary had to fight to suppress the fledgling flicker of hope forming in her chest. She seemed to suffer from a chronic tightness in her chest the entire time Marshall had been dating Abigail, a tightness which finally seemed to be easing.

Her second thought was that she was going to kill Delia, possibly by choking her on a bran muffin. The plans were still in the early stages, but she'd come up with something solid by morning.

But at the moment, a nagging, far more pressing thought tickled the back of Mary's mind.

"Marshall, didn't you move in with Abigail a little while ago?"

He nodded in response, taking another drag of beer.

"And didn't you sublet your place?"

His mind landed caught up to where she was going.

"Shit. I'm homeless, unless I can convince the owners to let me start renting that house again. Goddamn."

His head rolled on his neck to meet the back of her sofa, his stare blank as he attempted to drill twin holes in her ceiling with his eyeballs. This was one of the few, if not the only, times Mary had ever seen him so despondent and directionless.

"Look, Marshall, are you sure it's over with Abigail? I mean, there have been rumors flying about us for years; her question wasn't entirely unreasonable given those rumors. It seems silly to throw away a relationship over something this petty."

Marshall's eyes shifted to meet hers, his look determined.

"Mare, you and I both know it's over, and we know why it's over."

He let that statement hang in the air for a beat before continuing, and Mary felt herself blush. It wasn't the first time (and wouldn't be the last) that she and Marshall were accused of being lovers; however, it was only lately that she wished it were true. Her right hand involuntarily passed over her lower abdomen, an action Marshall saw. His hand on her knee brought her attention squarely back to him.

"Think about it this way: could you be with someone who thought you were capable of hurting them that badly, especially when you've given them no reason? I can't be with someone who would trust office gossip before trusting me. If she had jokingly brought up the 'crazy rumor some idiot told her' it might be a different story, but here we are. And I'm better off this way."

He polished off his beer, peeled himself off the back of the couch and leaned forward to set the empty bottle down on the coffee table with a definitive thump. With a small squeeze to her knee and a smile, he wandered into her kitchen to find her stash of takeout menus and order them dinner.

Mary went to make sure the sheets in Brandi's old room were clean.

* * *

By the time Mary went in for her first ultrasound, they had fallen into a comfortable routine.

Marshall would make sure he was up first and showered by the time it came to wake up Mary. She had never woken up easily (or gently, as Marshall found out the first time she sent a pillow whizzing past his head), but Mary found that waking up to the site of Marshall, hair wet from his shower, in his undershirt, jeans and barefoot was one of the more pleasant ways to be pulled from slumber. The fact that he usually had breakfast waiting for her by the time she joined him in the kitchen, along with her morning vitamins downright made her want to kiss him.

She sat down and started to shovel fried eggs and toast into her mouth, washing it down with a swig of orange juice. Mary gave a satisfied groan as Marshall sat across from her with his own plate.

"God, if I had known having you move in would mean having a ready-made wife, I would have done it eight years ago."

He chuckled around a mouthful of toast, and Mary took the opportunity to watch a drop of water roll down his neck. Her partner was far more muscular than most realized; he was thin, but solid, all of his weight coming from muscle. When she was told in 2003 that he was one of the most intense marshals in the Albuquerque office, her first instinct had been to call bullshit; she changed her mind after their first recertification day. He was called to demonstrate how to take down a moving target. The trainer took a 15 second head start, but Marshall caught him in the blink of an eye, had him on the ground in a heartbeat and cuffed before Mary could fully process what she had seen. She now knew that he was capable of that due to a combination of running and weight training and had long been impressed by the power each of his muscles possessed; what was new for her was the urge to take him out of his clothes and catalog every last one of those muscles with her tongue.

She was so lost in thought it took Marshall grabbing her hand to get her attention.

"Hey, where'd you go?"

She grinned, toying with the idea of telling him exactly where her mind had gone and watching her prim and proper partner choke on his breakfast. Seeing as how she didn't want to explain why her partner was a half-dressed corpse on her kitchen floor, she went for a safer route.

"Just thinking about what I have to do today. Wondering how much I can get done before I have to go to the doctor."

He nodded and went back to eating. Mary wished he'd put his hand back over hers.

"Do you want me to go with you?" His voice was low, as if he wasn't sure he should be asking her if she wanted company. The fact that he was still worried she didn't want him around after living together for nearly a month squeezed Mary's heart.

"That'd be nice."

* * *

That was how Mary found herself on a table in her doctor's office, pants unbuttoned and shirt raised, cold gel on her abdomen as the technician projected a grainy image of her uterus on a screen to her left. Marshall sat on her right, his eyes focused on the screen with rapt attention, the fingers of his right hand threaded through her own as the tech showed them the head and position of the baby.

She turned on the audio so they could hear the baby's heartbeat as she snapped a few quick pictures for them to keep. Marshall pretended to not notice the tear roll down Mary's cheek as she held the photo; Mary ignored the fact that Marshall had raised her hand to his mouth, his lips delicately pressed to the back of it as tears formed in his eyes.

* * *

They discussed adoption a few times, with file folders of family information all over her living room floor. After three weeks and 120 potential families, Mary found none of them to be satisfactory.

For the first time, she found herself wanting to keep her child. She was equally enthralled and terrified.

* * *

Mary finally buckled and told Stan about her pregnancy when she was in her sixth month and could no longer pass off her weight gain and new clothing as "too much pie intake". Just as she had predicted, he stuck her on desk work; Marshall was sent into the field with Delia to cover both his and Mary's witnesses. Like with everything else that had happened lately, they fell into a routine. In the office by 8, Marshall doing witness spot checks and bringing her lunch while Mary finished all of the paperwork. They rode home together at 6 and collapsed on the couch to watch TV or a movie, Marshall with a beer and Mary with a glass of juice.

Mary was beginning to fully feel the strain of her pregnancy. It had been one thing when her clothes had been tight; she still looked like herself when she looked in the mirror. Now, she barely recognized the woman she saw each morning; there were bags under her eyes, her tits were huge and even her neck had gained fat. Most days she could fight off the tears that threatened to overwhelm her; every once in a while though, they broke through.

That's how Marshall found her, leaning on her dresser in front of her mirror, dressed in an old pair of his sweatpants and a maternity tank top as her shoulders shook with her sobs. He came up behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Mare, what is it?"

She fought to get herself under control as she met his eyes in the mirror. He looked strong behind her, dressed in clothes spattered with mint green paint from decorating the nursery, willing to do whatever she needed of him as he had done for the entirety of their partnership.

"I don't see me anymore, Marshall. I'm fat, bloated, can't sleep, am nearly constantly being kicked in the gut and can't eat anything with green chilies anymore. But, I find myself inexplicably wanting to keep this kid," she let out another sob as he turned her around and wrapped her in a strong hug.

"Mare, shhh, Mare, take a deep breath. You're no more abnormal for wanting to keep this baby than you would be for wanting to give it away. If keeping it is right for you, do that. Either way, once the baby is born, the weight will come off. You'll be able to get back to work, and you'll only be kicked in the gut from the outside. And, despite all of that," he stepped away from her, his left hand sliding up to rest on the back of her head as his right rested on the side of her belly, "you are still one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, dark circles under your eyes, neck fat and all." He kissed her forehead with a chuckle as she slapped him, hard, in the bicep.

"Gee, you know how to make a girl feel special," she teased with a chuckle of her own.

"Just doin' my part," he whispered as he brought both his hands to her cheeks and used his thumbs to wipe away her remaining tears. The moment suddenly felt painfully intimate, and the emotion surprised Mary. She felt compelled to reach up and kiss him, but couldn't bring herself to do so. Marshall broke the mood before it could get any worse.

"Look, go wash your face. Brush your teeth. I'm gonna get out of these clothes and put my PJs on. I'll meet you back in here and rub your back like they showed us in Lamaze, okay?"

That night, as Mary drifted off to sleep, Marshall tried to slip out of her bed only to be caught around the wrist and dragged back down.

"Stay?"

"Whatever you need, Mare."

He didn't see the inside of Mary's guest room from that point on, other than to change his clothes.

* * *

As September crept closer, Mary and Marshall finished the nursery. Mint green with light wood trim, it differed greatly from the rest of Mary's house. The bedding with grinning safari animals, gently spinning mobile and stuffed lion in the crib completed the picture.

The partners stood in the doorway surveying their work.

"All that's missing now is a name. Have you picked any yet, Mare?"

"I like the name Jennifer for a girl. I was thinking James Marshall Shannon for a boy, though."

She snuck a peek at her lanky partner out of the corner of her eye. He was suddenly at a loss for words and fascinated by the floor boards.

Through a shuddering breath, she heard him say, "Are you sure, Mare, I'm not the baby's father and—"

She clasped his right hand with her left and gave a little tug to cut him off. "I'm sure, Marshall. Hopefully, with his uncle's name in there, he'll be a better James than my father ever was."

He gave her a small smile, nodded, cleared his throat and excused himself to make dinner.

* * *

The night of September 15 had been like every other for the past two weeks; with Mary out on leave, she puttered around the house, attempting to improve her cooking skill while she waited for Marshall to come home and update her on her witnesses. They had tried to do this over the phone while he was on witness visits, but Stan had been apoplectic when he found out, and neither wanted to sit through another lecture on what the stress of being a WITSEC Inspector could do to an expectant mother. Instead, Mary focused on working her way through a copy of _The Joy of Cooking_ that Marshall had brought with him; it was more productive than daytime TV and she at least felt like she was paying him back for the countless breakfasts and dinners he had made for the past seven months.

After a dinner of rosemary chicken and roasted red skin potatoes, Marshall updated Mary on the day as he washed dishes and she put away leftovers. Just then, his phone chirped. Mary picked it up and glanced at the caller ID before holding it out to him.

"It's Stan."

Quickly, Marshall dried his hands and took the phone from her.

"What's up, Stan?" He waited a beat as Stan relayed the situation to Marshall. "Alright, alright," he sighed, "I'll get started looking now. I'll talk to her tomorrow about the new job options available to her."

He hung up and looked at Mary.

"Daniela Matamoros is bitching about her job again. She wants to know if we can find her something that doesn't involve picking up clothes off a fitting room floor."

Mary scoffed, "Well, when she graduated with a degree in advertising in the worst economy in ages what the hell did she think would happen? It's not like plum advertising jobs grow on trees." She pointed him to the home office. "Go find the princess a new job. I'll finish the dishes."

She watched him go before picking up the sponge and resuming the scrubbing where he left off. Just as she finished the job and was wiping down the counter, she felt an odd pressure in her abdomen, then a feeling as if a rubber band had snapped. Suddenly, her lower half was wet, and there seemed to be no stop to the proverbial flood. Quickly, calmly, she made her way into her bathroom where she stripped and dried off; she recognized that she was going into labor, but she'd be damned if she showed up soaking wet.

She grabbed the sweatpants she'd been sleeping in, tossed them on and made her way into the home office. Knocking on the door frame to pull Marshall's attention away from the computer screen, she croaked out, "It's time to go."

True to form, neither panicked; Marshall calmly grabbed her suitcase, his keys and locked the door before putting her into the truck and heading to Mesa Regional. Mary called her mother and sister on the way; she could only pray they would beat them to the hospital, otherwise, they'd both get caught up in a whirlwind of crazy.

* * *

An hour into the experience, Mary kicked both Brandi and Jinx out of her room by threatening to not let them see or hold the baby; only Marshall was allowed to stay. When asked why, Mary threw a glass full of ice chips at the door, effectively ending the conversation.

"You know, that's probably not the best way to bring the baby into a calm environment," Marshall wryly remarked before helping her off the bed to walk the hallways. He supported her through each contraction, coaching her on her breathing and running to get ice chips when she asked, but not before teasing her about not wasting them as projectiles this time.

By 11:30, the doctor informed her that she was fully dilated and the baby would soon be born. Marshall helped her onto the bed as the adrenaline began to take hold of her. Each contraction felt like she was being stabbed in the gut repeatedly.

"I swear to God, this little bastard better be worth it!" she groaned after a particularly sharp contraction and bout of pushing.

Marshall did his best to keep her on track with her breathing, but could feel he was losing her focus. Her grip on his hand was tight and her breathing was falling out of the familiar Lamaze patterns. He brought his left hand to cradle the back of her head and rested his forehead against hers.

"Mare, focus. Focus on me."

"Alright, Mary, one more big push and we should clear the head and shoulders."

The doctor was trying to be encouraging, but Marshall saw the panic bloom behind Mary's verdant eyes. Returning her strong grip, he held her head in place.

"One more big push, Mare, and then that's it. Just one more push and you're done."

"Marshall, Marshall, oh, AH!"

She bore down and pushed as hard as she could. Despite the intense pain, she was aware of only two things: the sounds of her baby's first cries and Marshall's breath coursing across her cheek. Without thinking twice, she lifted her face to him and kissed him as she'd been tempted to do for months. He responded, gripping her head in both hands to kiss her more deeply before moving on to place gentle pecks on her cheeks, chin, nose and forehead.

"Oh, Mare, you did so well. I'm so proud of you."

She gave him a watery smile before collapsing back onto her pillows in exhaustion.

"Congratulations, Ms. Shannon, you have a beautiful baby boy."

The nurse pulled Marshall away with a kind smile to have him cut the umbilical cord. Once the boy was clean and wrapped in a receiving blanket, she passed the bundle to Marshall who walked over and placed him in his mother's arms. She scooted to one side of the bed and motioned for Marshall to sit next to her. He did and reflexively rested on his side, his arm on the pillow above Mary's head. He watched, fascinated, as he boy yawned and proceeded to suckle at his mother's teat.

"He's beautiful, Mare," he whispered and kissed her temple.

Mary sighed and leaned into the touch, unwilling to let the moment go. Leave it to her and Marshall to share their first real kiss while she was in labor. They were completely ass backwards, but it worked.

After another moment, a nurse came to ask what name she wanted put on the birth certificate, and Marshall made his way into the waiting room to announce the birth of James Marshall Shannon to his grandmother, aunt and uncle.

* * *

Mary woke at 3 am to see Marshall sitting at her bedside, holding Jaime. Between the dim lighting and the babe who held his full attention, Marshall didn't notice she had stirred. She used the opportunity to listen to him murmur to the boy.

"You are the spitting image of your mother; same eyes, ears, nose and chin. Your momma is one of the best marshals I've ever met, and I am incredibly lucky to get to work with her. Just like I'm incredibly lucky to be your Uncle Marshall. I'm gonna teach you how to shoot a gun when you're old enough, and how to play badminton and speak French and cook. Don't trust your momma to teach you how to cook; she's good with the basics, but nothing that'll impress a girl when you're older. Don't worry, Jaime, your Uncle Marshall's got you covered."

She chuckled and whispered through the dark, "Hey, numbnuts, don't poison our son against me. If he listens to you, he won't get laid until he's thirty, unless he has the good fortune to run into an Icelandic exchange student."

She could just make out Marshall's unsure grin in the weak light that came into the room from the hallway. He stood and carried Jaime to her and settled on to the bed, gently pressing himself against her side. Then, he asked a question she wasn't expecting.

"Mare, why'd you kiss me?"

Letting their son—and it was their son—rest between them, Mary reached up in the dark and brought his face down to hers for a slow, lingering kiss.

"I kissed you because I've wanted to kiss you for months, doofus. Because, I don't want you to move out now just because the baby's here. Because I know, beyond a reasonable doubt, that you are all the daddy this kid is ever gonna need. No worrying about his dad walking out after a fight with mom to rob banks or start a new family. I'm sure you will teach him French and how to shoot and how to cook and even how to woo Icelandic exchange students, and he'll be a sixth generation U.S. Marshal."

He surprised her by kissing her again in the dark, a kiss full of promises and hope for a future. Jaime gave a gurgle of protest when he realized he was no longer the center of his parents' attention, causing them to break apart. Marshall picked him up again and carried him to the crib the nurse had placed in the room.

"Sorry, little man, but it is bed time. We'll see you bright and early."

With that, Mary reached out a hand and pulled him back to bed for the night.

* * *

Two years later, after the midnight feedings and running on three hours of sleep, after they had settled into a routine of dropping Jaime off with Auntie Brandi for the day while Mary and Marshall went to work and ended the day having dinner as a family with Brandi, Peter and Jinx, Mary found herself surprised by her partner yet again.

Walking into their son's room, expecting to find her men waiting for a bedtime story, Mary found Marshall, Jaime on his knee and gnawing on a ring box that Marshall was desperately trying to keep drool-free. As she approached, Marshall nudged the boy to hand the box to her; she murmured, "Yes, of course yes," before he could even ask her the question. After a gentle kiss (and an emphatic "Eww!" from Jaime) they put the boy to bed and headed to their own room.

That night, after making love, Mary confided, "Marshall, I'm three weeks late."

* * *

FIN

Fun Fact: September 16 actually is Mary McCormack's due date; it's also my momma's birthday, my friend's birthday, and my boyfriend of five year's birthday. I think that's neat. If this was a tweet, hash tag would be #VirgosDoItBetter :-D


	7. Animal

I apologize that this has taken so long for me to write and post. I've been going through some tough times and the drive to write just hasn't been there.

That being said, I really hope you enjoy this; this is my birthday gift from me to you. As always, thank you for the favorite author/favorite story/author alert/story alert tags. Please, if you have a minute after reading, click the review button and let me know exactly what you liked about what I wrote. That helps me give you more of what you want.

-Katie

* * *

_Here we go again.  
I kinda wanna be more than friends,  
So take it easy on me.  
I'm afraid you're never satisfied._

_Here we go again.  
We're sick; like animals  
We play pretend.  
You're just a cannibal  
And I'm afraid I won't get out alive.  
No, I won't sleep tonight…_

_Oh, oh, I want some more,  
Oh, oh, what are you waiting for?  
Take a bite of my heart tonight…_

- "Animal", Neon Trees

* * *

Marshall Mann, for all the rough and tumble he had been involved in over the course of his 35 years of life, had never been tempted to strike a woman. He was all for gender equality, but his momma had taught him not to strike women and he had stuck to that rule, no questions asked.

Mary Shannon was making him question his resolve.

It had been eight years since he'd last seen her. Even though he gave her his card, invited her to call or come visit him whenever the mood struck her, she had disappeared like so much dust in the wind. Shortly after his return from New Jersey, he'd been assigned to WITSEC out of Albuquerque. Focusing on helping people flee crime, instead of wading into the middle of it, appealed to Marshall, and he soon found himself totally absorbed in the routine of M.O.U., move in, check-ups and court dates. His first partner, an old timer named Neal Harris, was good about showing him the ropes before his retirement and Marshall still had his number tucked into the bottom of a drawer incase anything particularly challenging came up. Before long he had put the blonde out of his mind and went about his day-to-day without a second thought.

It figures fate would throw her into his path when he least expected it.

She had been so hostile towards him, had given him such a blank look when he introduced himself that he thought she had actually forgotten who he was; fortunately for his ego, he caught her staring at him from the corner of her eye as he headed into the room to find his witnesses. It was at least marginally comforting to know that he wasn't all that easy to forget.

Now, while filling up the GMC she had abused through the better part of Louisiana and eastern Texas, he attempted to block her out and wash the bug guts off the windows. Fortunately he had always been able to multitask and tuned in to what she was saying.

"Oh, man. Family of Marshals. Must have been an awkward conversation when you told them you were gay, huh?"

A flash of anger went through him. She damn well knew he wasn't gay, and it was a cheap shot to get a reaction out of him.

"I'm not…" he took a breath and got himself together, "taking the bait."

He went back to work on the windows while she kept talking, asking him the stock questions about why he decided to work with WITSEC. Just when he thought she was working up to whatever served as an apology in her world, she took another shot at Albuquerque. He put the squeegee away and turned back to face her.

"I do actually wonder what's wrong with you, but I don't actually want to know."

She put her snack bag down on the hood of the car before answering.

"That is the first smart thing you've said." She proceeded to slurp the rest of her drink while staring him down.

He gave a mirthless chuckle and turned to pay, saying, "Uh, thank you?" as he did so.

He finished paying and closed up the gas tank before turning back to her. Mary was attempting to look busy staring over the hood of the truck to where Henry and Claudia sat together on a curb, but her body language gave her away. She was still keeping track of him out of the corner of her eye. The past two days had been tense enough with getting Henry and Claudia to cooperate without having to fight his temporary partner every step of the way or having her throw verbal barbs in his direction. He glanced around, and seeing that the nearest car to them was at the other end of the gas station, made a snap decision.

Moving quickly so she couldn't stop him, he stepped toward her, grabbed her wrist and jerked her back towards him, causing her drink to fall out of her hand and crash onto the concrete. He maneuvered them so they were blocked from Henry and Claudia's line of sight, and pinned Mary between the driver's door and his body. He caught her hands against his chest as they came up to push him away; if anyone were to spot them, they would assume they were just two lovers, taking a break from driving.

When Marshall looked down into her face, he saw an expression he recognized from their previous meeting: frustration mixed with intrigue and arousal. She didn't want it made public knowledge, but Mary apparently didn't mind a little manhandling, depending on who it was. Before he could make too much of it, her tough-as-nails persona was back in place.

"Jesus, you really do make a habit out of feeling up women while working, don't you?"

He just grinned at her, which caused her to look confused.

"Why are you smiling, numbnuts? Shouldn't you be busy keeping the witnesses in sight?"

"I can still see them through the windshield, but nice try. I'm smiling, Mary, because you finally admitted to remembering me. I was wondering how long you were gonna keep that 'I don't know you' act up."

She glared at him, her eyes narrowed. He astutely slid both his legs between hers to prevent her from lifting a knee into his groin; the fact that he inadvertently invaded her personal space just a bit more was the icing on the cake.

"You realize you're one phone call away from one hell of a sexual harassment suit, right?"

"Yeah, but with what we have on each other we'd be stupid to say anything to the higher ups. I could land you with an official reprimand in your file as quickly as you could return the favor."

"That's fine; it'll go with the other reprimands I have in there."

He smiled at her response. Marshall had always had a soft spot for spirited women.

"Look," he said, easing his grip on her hands, "I don't want to get either of us in trouble. I just need you to relax. I get that you dislike this assignment, but you can't take that out on me. I need you to focus more on Henry and Claudia and less on worrying about whether or not I'll do something to rat you out with your boss." She cast her eyes downward, suddenly shy. "I get that what happened in Newark could make it real awkward to work together, but I can let that go if you can. Can you let that go so we can get these two to Albuquerque? It'll make the rest of this trip that much easier to get through and you'll be back to the FTF sooner rather than later."

Marshall watched her face as she went over her options before answering him.

"I won't stop being sarcastic."

He laughed at her declaration.

"I wouldn't expect you could stop being sarcastic any more than you could stop breathing. I'm just asking you not be as caustic towards me, or hostile to the situation at large."

There was another beat, and the tension between them grew as he took notice of how her frame felt beneath his. Just before it was too much for him and he leaned down to kiss her, she responded.

"Fine, if that'll get you to let me go. And if you'll stop driving like an old woman. I swear my dead grandma drives faster than you."

He chuckled again; she really was a lot of fun to talk to when she wasn't busy trying to verbally castrate him.

"Done and done."

He released her hands and stepped back. She grabbed her bag from the hood of the GMC and made her way to the passenger side. Marshall straightened his jacket out before stepping back into his witnesses' line of sight. He gave a sharp whistle, and getting their attention, gestured for them to head back to the car. With that he hoisted himself into the driver's seat, and they were off.

* * *

Other than the instance where Henry went missing for a few panic-inducing moments, the rest of the trip went smoothly.

While she was far from timid, she wasn't hostile toward him, either. There were even a few moments when he could have sworn they were becoming friends, learning bits and pieces about each of their families and childhoods. Of course, before he could sink too far into the fantasy of them actually getting to know each other, she would say something biting that brought him back to reality.

If there was to be an honest friendship here, not just two acquaintances, it would be years in the making. He could only hope he was right and she had been deflecting with sarcasm when Claudia asked if she would be staying in Albuquerque.

She gave him an appraising look after he explained Freud's thoughts on jokes to her.

"There's something weird about the air here."

He smiled and went to get back in the GMC.

"That's the lack of pollution."

She looked puzzled as she situated herself on the passenger side.

"It's like this all the time? I don't know. Might be worth sticking around to see these two break up. Should be in about a week."

He shook his head and started the car, pretending not to notice when Mary gave Claudia a slight wave as they pulled away.

"So, where are you staying tonight?"

Her head jerked to look at him.

"What?"

"Where are you staying? Did the Baltimore office book a hotel room for you, or am I taking you to the Sunport so you can meet up with your team?"

Her head dropped into her palms.

"Shit! I knew I forgot to do something. I didn't call Alonzo to see where I need to be. One second."

Marshall kept his eyes on the road, guiding them in the general direction of his house as he pretended not to listen in on her conversation.

From what he gathered, the team was in Miami, where Carson Miller's trail had gone cold. From what the team gathered, he had stowed away on a freighter headed to Venezuela. From there it was anyone's guess where he went. They were being sent home for the time being. Mary was to head back to Baltimore as soon as possible for debriefing and her next assignment.

She pressed 'off' on her cell and stared out the window.

"So…" Marshall prompted her for information.

She startled.

"I'm 90% sure you overheard and know that I'm heading back to Baltimore."

He nodded and shrugged as he sheepishly confessed, "I may have pieced that together."

She shot him a look that Marshall now recognized as her suspicious-yet-still-friendly-glare before she continued.

"I need to hop the next plane out east. Any idea of when the next flight to Baltimore would be?"

He turned onto his street and pulled into his drive way. He cut the ignition, unbuckled himself and shifted to look at her.

"I have no idea, but it's nearly 8pm. The chances of you finding a flight out tonight are slim, but you're welcome to come in and use my computer to search flights. If you can't find a flight, you can find a hotel you like and I'll take you there."

"You mean you wouldn't let me crash here?"

He froze with his hand on the handle. Marshall felt like a deer caught in headlights, sensing that the wrong answer could land him in hot water. Mary, instead of waiting for his answer, chose to interpret his silence instead.

"Oh, I get it. You've got a girlfriend in there."

"What? No! I don't even have a—" he spluttered as she surged forward.

"You've got a girlfriend living with you and you don't want her to know you've spent the past four days with a female Marshal. And given what happened against the car the other day, you want a little side action, hence the taking me to a hotel—"

"MARY!" he shouted, realizing it was the only way to stop her. Once she went quiet and slightly wide eyed, he continued. "I do not have a girlfriend. If I wanted action on the side, it would be awfully stupid of me to let you in to use the computer my fictitious girlfriend would have access to on the off chance she saw the search, or you know, the beautiful blonde with a Glock researching flights and hotels. I only suggested a hotel because given our history, I didn't want you to think I expect anything. Now, will you just get out of the damn car so I can get around to washing my clothes, taking a shower and maybe getting some food that doesn't come loaded with preservatives?"

When she stayed quiet, he opened the door and hopped out. She was close behind, muttering, "Well, why didn't you just say so?"

* * *

He was more befuddled than irked when the first thing Mary did was drop her bag in the entry way, kick off her boots and plop down on his couch with his remote.

"Computer's down the hall, last door on the left," he said, pointing toward the rear of the house. "Don't you think you should hop on that first, see if there's a flight you can catch?"

Grumbling, Mary hauled herself from her perch and headed in the direction he indicated. While she did that, Marshall toed off his own boots, then grabbed both of their go bags and headed to the utility room. He had just finished sorting his bag when he realized she was leaning in the doorway. He paused, leaned against the washer and stared back at her.

"So?"

She crossed her arms over her stomach.

"There's a flight to Baltimore in two hours, but there's a cheaper one that leaves tomorrow at 10:44am. Do you mind me crashing here? That extra three-hundred bucks could come in handy someday."

"Sure, I'll make up the pullout sofa. You have enough clean clothes? I can throw a pair of pants and a few shirts in with my stuff if you need it. Grab your pajamas and toiletries, too. You might as well shower while I do this."

Quietly, she ducked down to her back, pulled out a pair of sleep pants and a baggy shirt, slid what he assumed was a set of underwear underneath and grabbed her toiletries. A towel soon followed. He felt strange watching her; they were hardly friends. He knew that "alcoholism and gambling" ran in her family, she didn't like talking to her mom or sister and that she was good at her job, so they couldn't strictly be called strangers, either. He rolled the word "acquaintance" around his head and decided that calling a woman he'd spent a night naked with an "acquaintance" would result in him lacking several parts of his anatomy he was dearly attached to, even if said night was eight years past.

His mind landed on "partner"; it wasn't true in the strictest sense, but she had partnered him the past few days. It would have to do.

He was jerked from his thoughts when she stood, so much closer than before, and handed him a pair of jeans, a tank top and a long sleeve shirt. She looked him in the eye, whispered, "Thank you," and walked away. It wasn't until he looked down to begin the load of colored laundry that his heart stopped.

She had handed him the red tank top she had been wearing when they first met.

* * *

He made up the pullout sofa and quickly moved on to make them a simple spaghetti dinner. By the time she padded barefoot into the kitchen, he was able to control his breathing and the flush was out of his cheeks. He had had a lot of fun that night, pretending to be Johnny Miller and getting to peel that top off her curves. He wasn't proud that he had done it on duty, but he couldn't regret it, either. Until he could get a better read on her, he wasn't going to risk embarrassing himself.

Dinner was quick and understated. He gave her a general rundown of what would happen with Henry and Claudia now; she gave him the 411 on where they thought Carson Miller was headed. It was pleasant enough, even though they both were dancing around the elephant in the room. Marshall's first instinct was to talk it to death, until it left him alone and he was able to go on in peace. Mary seemed to feel no such inclination, and so, he let it go and tried another line of questioning.

"So, how'd you end up in Baltimore?"

She drew designs in the left over sauce on her plate with her fork.

"The short version is, Eckers moved up the food chain to Washington, Devins took over and without her standing between us he took the first opportunity to ship me off. Baltimore was that place."

"Did you want to go?" he queried as he got up and carried their plates to the sink. Mary joined him with the rest of the plates, still quiet. Marshall decided giving her time and a task was best. "Here," he said, handing her a drying towel, "I'll wash, you dry. Plates and cups go in that cabinet right there to your right."

They worked in companionable science. After he finished washing and handed her the last cup, she paused for a minute, taking extra care to dry it before putting it back in the cabinet. Marshall turned toward her, propped his left hip on the counter and watched her. She began to speak.

"You heard me on the phone with my sister. I wanted away from her drama, but I could have found a better way to leave. That being said, you can bet I made some friends in Baltimore when I showed up."

She shot him a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes before glancing down at the floor and mirroring his position.

"You were friendly enough with me when we first met."

Mary snorted and said, "Yeah, fucking on the back of a motorcycle is the new international greeting of peace and friendship."

Before he could stop himself, Marshall slid his hand under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "Mary, you know that's not what I meant. You were testy with me after you found out who I was, but you eventually warmed up to me. You can be friendly when you want to be. And you may not know me particularly well, but after working together twice, I think I've proven myself. I shouldn't have to do it over and over again."

The air grew tense between them as they considered each other, sizing each other up before Mary finally cracked, muttering, "What the hell," before she kissed him.

To say he was surprised by her action was an understatement, but Marshall had always been quick to react to a situation. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight to him, enjoying the feeling of having her pressed from knee to hip to chest against him as her tongue plundered his mouth. When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was shallow. It was another beat before he pulled her back to him, kissing her as she towed him to the living room. She got his shirt off as he pinned her against the wall, but when she attempted to move him to the pull out bed, he used his greater strength to maneuver her with him to his bedroom instead.

It wasn't until she was down to her bra and panties, her hands on his belt, that he realized tonight carried far greater implications than eight years ago ever did. He stilled her hands by gently grabbing her wrists before asking, "Mary, is there any chance you're actually planning on moving out here?"

She shot him a wolfish grin before firing back, "That depends on how well you perform tonight."

Before he knew it she had him down to his boxers and seated on the edge of his bed as she unclasped her bra and flung it across the room. Then she was on him, and he was lost in the soft feel of her skin beneath his lightly calloused fingers as he drew them up her body to cup her breasts before lowering his head to her left nipple. He reveled in the feeling of her fingers as they twined through his hair, her nails as they raked across her scalp, her nipple as it pebbled under the attention of his tongue and her writhing on top of his erection. He leaned back until she was directly over him and he could coax her panties off her legs and onto the floor as he kissed her deeply, enjoying the way she moaned.

He was unembarrassed by the groan he failed to hold back when he felt her wetness seeping through his boxers. Nor was he embarrassed by the way his head jerked back at the feel of her nails as they scraped down his torso to push his boxers off his slim hips. He flipped her on to her back and settled between her legs; the sight of her, flushed with swollen lips and hair fanned out beneath her along with the feeling of her legs wrapped around his waist made him unbearably hard and triggered a sense of déjà vu. Before he could act, Mary rose up onto her elbows to kiss her way along his jaw before exhaling into his ear, "Fuck me already, Marshall."

His tenuous grip on his self-control snapped and he surged into her, ripping cries from both their throats. He paused for a moment to soak in the feeling of her around him, tight and hot and wet, and knew he was lost. Marshall had had his fair share of sex in the eight years since he'd last seen her, both casual and committed, but she was different than those women, she mattered more. Mary had been different back in New Jersey and she was still different now, here, in his bed. It was surreal for him, to have this woman he barely knew matter so much, and he knew he was in trouble because he couldn't stop whatever was going on between them.

He was certain she would make the move to WITSEC in Albuquerque. He knew that almost as well as he knew she would want to keep this, whatever this was, going between them, just as much as he did. He also knew that Stan and Stan's boss would not let her transfer go through if it seemed like Marshall had coerced a female Marshal into transferring for the sole purpose of having a bang buddy at his beck and call.

But hell if he couldn't stop.

He suckled at her neck as he snaked a hand between them in search of her clit as he thrust in and out of her sweetness. When he found it, he was rewarded by Mary's head snapping back and her moaning. His whole world narrowed to her and her reactions and how she clenched around his cock as she came, her mouth a perfect "o" as her nails dug into the muscles of his back. Knowing that she had come, Marshall allowed himself to cut loose, bracing himself against the headboard and lifting her legs higher on his ribcage as he pounded into her. The pinch of hitting her cervix on each stroke allowed him to hold off his own orgasm until he was able to drop his hand between her thighs again and feel her clench around him one more time before giving himself over to his own release.

He gently lowered his face to hers and kissed her as he pulled out. Despite being physically worn out, Marshall relished the hum of contentment that emanated from her as they separated and he pulled her against his side. Just when he thought he'd be able to fall asleep with Mary nuzzling into his side, she brought reality crashing back in.

"Marshall, why did you ask me if I was actually planning on moving to Albuquerque?"

Her voice sounded oddly small in the dark.

"Because if you do transfer to WITSEC out here, we'll probably be partnered together." He left it at that, unable to lie to her and hoping she would connect the dots on her own.

"And partners don't ignore the 'no fraternization' rules in Albuquerque? Because most offices I've been in just kind of skim over those bad boys."

"You haven't met Stan. Stan is a stickler for rules. It drives him nuts when I go against regs, not that I do it that often," he rested his head on his right arm as he brought his left around her. "The fact that I go against regs even some of the time drove all his other Marshals nuts, hence why I need a partner. Only guy that could stand me was my first partner, and he's long gone."

Mary had gone so quiet while he had been speaking that the only sign she was still awake was the steady motion of her hand on his chest as it drifted in lazy paths across his abdomen.

"So if I decide to move out here, there's no more of this between us."

Marshall's heart clenched; she had hit the nail right on the head.

"No. If you move out here, all I can offer you is friendship, no matter how well I performed tonight." He attempted to give her a smile but knew it didn't quite reach his eyes.

He watched Mary's expression grew determined before she rose up to kiss him as she settled over his waist. Marshall felt his cock grow hard again as he watched the sway of her breasts and the sheet pool around her waist. She was beautiful, and smart and funny and would be a terrific partner and friend. But he knew then, before she was even officially named his partner, that part of him would always want more, would want this with her, too. It was simply fated.

Marshall was pulled from his reverie when she tweaked his nipples and settled lower on his body, letting his erection brush up against her ass.

With his azure gaze on her, she leaned down and whispered, "Then we'll just have to make the most of tonight," before sinking down onto him. He was absolutely, utterly lost, this would eat him alive.

And he loved it.

* * *

Fin


	8. One Short Night

This next one has been bouncing around my head awhile, hence why it came out so soon after the last chapter. In fact, it is part of what made it so hard to write the last chapter. While we're at it, this chapter takes place in the same AU as "The Joker", "Want To" and "Animal", but before Mary's encounter with Mark in season four.

Anyway, here we go. As always, please review. I live off reviews.

-Katie

* * *

_One short night with a stranger.  
One full moon over my head.  
One false move and it's over.  
So I always think of what we said,  
My baby…_

_Strange how heavy my heart is;  
Strange how dark it is tonight.  
Strange the way this all started.  
I guess I'm losing track of wrong and right._

_And as the lights go down,  
I lie down with him.  
And as I'm lying there  
I can only smell your hair._

_It's like you're across the hall  
With your ear glued to the wall,  
And as I move to let him in  
I can feel you crawl under my skin…_

- "One Short Night", Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

* * *

Little known fact: contrary to popular opinion, Mary Shannon had not slept with Mark before marrying him at the age of seventeen.

She had annulled their union a month or so after his less-than-impressive performance on their wedding night. It wasn't until well after that first time, at age twenty, that she set herself on a neck-breaking pace through men in an attempt to break Wilt Chamberlain's partner count. She was pretty sure if she hadn't been trying to earn a badge, she would have beaten him. Funny how wanting to avoid petty jealousy and a reputation as "that girl" in the United States Marshals Service will put a damper on a person's love life.

The only mistake she ever made in that regard was in late September 1995, when she impulsively took what she thought was a random bystander behind a bar while she was on a sting. The fact that she happened to have and use a blunt she had confiscated from her younger sister earlier in the week certainly hadn't helped her professional demeanor.

She would have gotten away with it, too, if he hadn't wound up being their man on the inside. It was just her fucking luck to have that happen. And it was just her weakness for men that caused her to fall into bed with him again, repeatedly, the night before he left town. But, she figured it was all behind her after she took him to the airport. Sure, he had slipped her his card and extended a genuine offer of friendship, but since when did Mary Shannon keep men around for anything other than sex? She promptly returned to Newark and found a guy in the Fugitive Task Force that she worked with, but wasn't her superior, to burn her excess energy with after a good hunt when no others were available. She had learned her lesson when it came to mixing business with pleasure. Thusly, her youthful impulse was forgotten, except for the odd night when she couldn't find a man and Marshall Mann inexplicably invaded her fantasies. Those nights she went to sleep remembering blue eyes hungrily taking in every naked inch of her as his tongue and fingers danced across her skin, coaxing her to orgasm.

Those nights, she was thankful she lived alone, lest her mother and sister ask her who this Marshall character was and when would they meet him?

Still, she had moved on and that was the end of it. Or, it was what Mary thought was the end of it. Eight years later, when she was hunting quite possibly the most dangerous man she had ever chased, he had shown up again. As a WIMPSEC inspector. With the exception of a more regulation haircut and some laugh lines around his eyes, he looked the same. She hadn't been sure if she was more embarrassed that she had slept with him once upon a time or if she was happy to have the chance to sleep with him again. Her confusion had caused her to lash out at everyone for a day, until Marshall finally got sick of it and pinned her against their truck and lectured her.

She hated to admit it (a common theme in her life) but that was the moment where she decided to sleep with him again if the chance presented itself.

Sure enough, when he offered her a place to crash before heading back to the East Coast, she took it. And when he made her dinner, and prodded her about why she was in Baltimore and not Newark he was so patient, so damned kind to a woman who had done nothing but bite his head off that she couldn't resist. She kissed him in his kitchen, with no intent of staying in Albuquerque, but just to hear his breathing speed up and feel his fingertips dance at the edge of her bra. Mary had always been unabashedly aggressive when it came to sex, and was more so with the lanky, blue-eyed marshal when she saw how she could make his eyes cross and his head fall back when she straddled his lap in nothing but her panties and a smile, careful to suckle the pulse point on his neck. In that instant, that surrender was just what she wanted, what she needed to get him out of her system once and for all. Another night spent with him and she would go home, all traces of Marshall Mann banished from her mind.

Oh, how wrong Mary Shannon had been.

Sometime during their second bout, she noticed a difference in his touch, tenderness in his eyes just beneath the surface that startled her. She really had no intention of transferring here; she hated Baltimore, sure, but he had come out and said they would only be able to be friends if they were partners. There was no reason for her to stay if sex was off the table, plain and simple. But as she shared her body with him, he shared himself with her, giving her little details of his life and sharing what he could of being a WITSEC inspector, and sometime between rounds three and four, fully enveloped in the warmth, feel and smell of him, Mary found herself asking what rent was like in Albuquerque, and if it would be possible for him to take her by the office to meet his boss.

By January of 2004, shortly before her 33rd birthday, Mary Shannon was a WITSEC Inspector partnered with Marshall Mann.

When he met her at the airport, he greeted her with no more than a smile and a handshake, a clear signal that he meant it when he said that sex was off the table. Having met Stan, she understood why the no fraternization regulation was one Marshall refused to break. Stan was similar to Eckers in the sense that he was the kind of leader that ensured you never tried to let him down. But, as they worked together over the years, she caught her partner watching her, sometimes saw flashes of the tenderness and longing she had seen before.

True to form, she responded by fucking the brains out of any and every available man she could get her hands on.

Commitment scared her. What scared her more was that now, even after a night meant to exorcise him from her system, she found her mind wandering to him, his kisses and other, more intimate details of his body, such as the birth mark in the crease where his left thigh met his hip or how the skin below his ear tasted when she licked it. Now, though, instead of being remembrances of their time together, she imagined him while she was in bed with other men.

That was where she found herself now. She tried to focus on the man stumbling through her house after her, shedding his clothes rapidly behind him. He was taller than her, with dark hair and green eyes and a slight Southern accent. He bit more than kissed her, and his touch was rough on her breasts and hips, something she could overlook as long as he got the job done.

Mary found her mind wandering back to her night in Marshall's bed, his gentle tone, the way he reacted to her body, how his kisses were passionate and needy but not bruising. Not like now at all.

Marshall had told her they could only be friends, but one cold December night when she and Raph were on an unofficial break, she tried again. He had come over to keep her company on a rare occasion when both her mother and sister were out. There had been beer and Chinese takeout, low lights and _Back to the Future_. Mary, bored with the plot (as she always found herself in time travel movies), took advantage of his slightly inebriated state and straddled his lap. His eyes were glazed, but his hands were firm on her hips as he whispered against her neck, "I told you this was a bad idea, you know why this is a bad, bad idea," and kissed her anyway. His fingers were nimble as they undid the buttons on her top, just ready to push the offending fabric off her shoulders and start on her bra when a shocked gasp filled the room. Her eyes snapped open and met Brandi's stunned gaze in the flickering light of the TV screen before the younger woman fled the house, slamming the door behind her and effectively ending Mary's plundering of Marshall's mouth. They never spoke of it again.

Tonight, Jimmy (Jimmy? Jonathan? Joe?) didn't bother with unbuttoning anything, taking his time and reveling in her the way her partner had once long ago. Tonight, he ripped her shirt open in his haste, causing little plastic missiles to land all around her room. The sound of button-strikes triggered something inside her and gave an angry edge to her passion. She was pissed at the man with her, pissed at the fact that she hadn't gotten off yet, and mostly was pissed at her partner for refusing to help her with what she knew he could fix in ten minutes, tops. She bit back as she ripped the shirt from Jimmy's torso, before yanking his pants down his legs and pushing him onto the bed. Mary stepped back and stripped herself fully before he could destroy her favorite bra and panty set. He followed suit and pulled her onto the bed and quickly rolled atop her, ready to penetrate. She halted him by closing her knees against his chest and barking out, "Condom!"

He rolled his eyes and reached toward the bedside drawer she indicated. Only when she saw the condom was on did she move to part her thighs and let him in, giving an exaggerated moan to mask her wince of pain; she wasn't really ready for him, not that he'd bothered to check. He began an erratic rhythm, pounding into her, chasing his own orgasm without a second thought for hers.

Suddenly, this was not what she wanted, but still happened to be the easiest way to get her stress relief. She pushed feelings of guilt down as she remembered Marshall, how he had asked instead of just presuming to forego a condom, how he kissed her as he penetrated and how he had made sure that she was ready for him each and every time. She felt wetness flood between her thighs as she remembered her partner above her, and turned her head away so she wouldn't have to look into this stranger's eyes where she expected familiar blue. She let her mind drift back to memories of Marshall, the way he smelled of heat and clean cotton and Irish Spring; the way he lapped at her nipples, or kissed her neck as she came and the way he had told her how she felt around him. How he had never made her feel cheap for jumping into bed with him.

Soon enough, she found herself reaching the edge, no thanks to the man she had brought home.

Jimmy (or whoever he was) was content to believe he was the reason she had come and shuddered to a finish inside of her before pulling out and flopping onto his back. He smiled at her and gave her the obligatory, "That was fantastic," before he slid out of bed to throw out the condom and get dressed.

Mary stayed prone on her back, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun above her, trying to ignore the trickle of her own wetness down her thighs and the ache that was forming low in her abdomen. She always felt hollow after these encounters, but kept seeking them anyway. It was a cheap, petty form of revenge, and she knew it, she just couldn't stop it. The worst part was always the look in Marshall's eyes the morning after. He knew damn well where she'd been and what she'd been doing; she swore he could smell it on her, a thought that both disturbed her and broke her heart. Even if that thought was folly, she could feel a love bite begin to form near her collarbone, in a spot where Marshall would be sure to see it if she wore any of her usual tops. But that was the point, had been the point of bringing strange men home since she had moved to Albuquerque.

Jimmy finished dressing and gave her a quick, "I'll see you around," before beating a path out of her house. She heard the door lock behind him and his car pull out of her driveway before she got up and stripped the sheets of her bed.

That was the point of these trysts, for Marshall to know she had them, to punish him for playing the saint and refusing her when she knew he longed to have her again. Now, it was just a matter of waiting for him to become frustrated enough to act, instead of putting it off, or for her to get to the point where she didn't yearn to have him settle between her legs again.

She could only hope that the former would result before the latter became reality.

* * *

FIN


End file.
